The Grand Hueco Mundo Makeover Day
by KuronoMizu
Summary: Things in Hueco Mundo are getting a little dull. What better way for Aizen to amuse himself than to go around on a style checkup of his dear underlings…? But not everything’s bound to go as intended…
1. Great Way to Start the Day

Disclaimer: No, I do NOT own Bleach (of course). If I did, I would be a genius by the name of Kubo Tite. Oh well...

A/N: This is by no means my first fic I've worked on (think it might be my second, though), but my first is still unfinished & waiting for a friend to do the latter half of it, as a collaboration. Look forward to it!

WARNINGS: Spoilers for anything past Soul Society arc (duhhhh), Gin: bit OOC, Ulquiorra: very, _very_ OOC. (Everyone else…deadpan humor as always! Except Grimmy. Who may/may not be accurately portrayed while drunk.)

---------------

Aizen Sousuke, formerly one of Soul Society's finest, yawned and stretched. It was yet another fun-filled Sunday morning in Hueco Mundo. He took one look out the window at the stagnant scenery and almost wanted to go back to sleep. Honestly, when Gin and Tousen were suggesting places to set up their base, they could have picked a decent vacation spot, or at least somewhere with a nicer view. The endless nighttime sandland with the occasional shrub or dead tree, always illuminated by the same crescent moon, had seemed homey enough at first. But now it was just _old._

He poured himself his morning tea from a fresh pot one of the servants had just brought in—real tea, he wouldn't go anywhere near that Lipton nonsense. As he settled into his stone chair—heavy on the artiness, not so much on the comfort—he had already decided what kind of day it was going to be.

…A Makeover Day.

Not for him, of course; he managed to look impeccable with hardly any effort at all. His hair stayed the way it was with no gel whatsoever—all the shinigami had seen this with their own dumbfounded eyes as the three traitors had left for their current residence. All Aizen needed was a quick run-through with one hand each morning, and even the little droopy strand he was so fond of would stay in place all day.

Besides, if for some odd reason he had a catastrophe with his appearance, he could always cast Kyouka Suigetsu on everyone in Las Noches.

Not that he wanted to stoop so low, that is.

No, Makeover Days were when he lovingly attended to the outfits, hair, and sometimes makeup of several of his subordinates. Usually this was due to a bizarre mix of boredom and paternal love. Sometimes it was because he was having a personal crisis (others binged on chocolate, he gave makeovers. Go figure). When this was the case, everyone seemed a bit reluctant to consult with Aizen-sama.

He couldn't imagine why.

Taking a sip of tea and leaning back, he pressed a button on his chair that instantly turned on the massive, full-color holographic screen in front of him. There was only one man who could aid him in his grand endeavor today.

He needed Ichimaru Gin.

Simply by willing the screen to show the whereabouts of his silver-haired _compadre_, it was so. He happened to find the man in his own quarters, practicing extra-awesome-evil-super-demonic grins of death in front of the mirror.

Noticing after a second or two that he was being watched, Gin turned around hastily to the left wall of his room to see Aizen's magnified and rather unamused-looking face on his own high-resolution display. "Ehh, _g-gomen yaa_, Aizen-chaan," he drawled sheepishly. "What'd you pop up like that for, anyhoo?" A sweatdrop rolled slowly and uneasily down his face, frozen into the last expression he had been testing out.

Aizen put a hand on his forehead and let it slide down his face. "I'm not going to bother asking what that was about. Because I've decided already that today will be—"

"—_aa_, a Makeover Day, ne??" Gin finished eagerly. "…Ya wouldn't happen ta need my help then, would ya? Huh? Huh?" His face had lit up with—well, as much expression as one can have when one's eyes are constantly closed and mouth constantly smiling.

"Why, right you are," Aizen replied, contented. He could always put up with Gin's antics, solely because of the fact that he felt like Gin was one of the only people who truly understood him. Not his manipulative, megalomaniacal self, of course—everyone and their mother knew _that_ by now.

He meant the kind of bond they shared when Gin was the only one whom he could have obsessive fangirlish chats about _Will & Grace _with. Where would he be without him?

"I'd like to begin work as soon as possible," he continued. "If you could meet me in my chambers in—"

"Done and done, commander," Gin replied playfully, giving a cheesy salute. "I'm on my wa--- AAHHH!"

"…Gin?"

"NO WAY!! NEW SHIPMENT? BROWNIE BITES?!?"

There was a crash. Aizen wished he could see what was happening outside the screen's field of vision.

"Uh, sir, you might want to be more cau….u…sir?!?!"

Another crash. "Mine! MINE! THEY'RE ALL MINE!! A-HAHAHAHAHAHHH!"

On second thought, there were some things Aizen would rather not have to sit through. He heaved a sigh and switched the screen's focus to his first candidate as he thought, _I should have anticipated something like this…perhaps it's best I do this on my own, anyway._

* * *

"Stark," he called gently. 

"Zzzzz."

"Sta-arrrk…"

"Mmphlhum'nahuhh?"

"STARK." He sent a wave of his own reiatsu into his narcoleptic subordinate's room.

Somehow, in under two seconds flat, Stark managed to stand up straight as a board from where he'd been collapsed like a stagnant blob on his divan. "Y-yeah, Aizen-sama? I mean, yes??"

"I've got a game for you…"

"…uhh..??"

"Guess what day it is."

"Whaaa…_oh_. Oh God…"

And again in under two seconds flat, the incredible sloth-Espada had already plopped back down and was in deep-REM sleep.

A mild twitch developed in Aizen's left eye. It looked as if no one was keen to cooperate today. He was starting to feel _so_ dreadfully undervalued…

After all, he was _God_, for God's sakes! (Well…he would be before long, if all went as planned.) What more did they want...?

Ah, well, at least he could be confident that Stark was consistently getting enough beauty sleep. He just wished it would have a positive effect on the man's severe lethargy. Like a normal person. But then, Stark wasn't normal. Wait...there was no hope of finding 'normal' around here in the first place.

Giving another sigh and gathering up his hopes, he moved on to a new contender swiftly.

...Bah, normal was for sissies, anyway.

* * *

Next time...Aizen plays twisted mind games with two of the Espada you all know 'n love! (Well, definitely _know_ at least; the rest is a matter of taste) Who will walk away emotionally scarred for all time? Who will defy the laws of physics? And _who in the world has a hangover at mid-day? _All this and more...in chapter 2!

A/N: Poor Aizen, off to a shaky start...Well, please go on to the next chapter or two (or three...etc.) and review if you can find it in your hearts[sniffles  
Hint: If there's any big words you don't get, look 'em up. This is kind of being written through an Aizen's-brain-scope-lens-filter-mabob, and you know he wouldn't use low-brow vocab... (to him, which is normal-speak to us :P Those darned high-and-mighty evil masterminds!)


	2. The Emo and the Wildcard

"Ulquiorra."

The fourth Espada was already alert, standing with arms behind his back.

"Good morning, Aizen-sama. Did you sleep well?"

Aizen thought for a moment. He had watched a horror movie before going to bed, a particularly disturbing one that would cause (most) human psyches enough trauma to have nightmares involving little girls for weeks.

"Yes. Yes I did. Moving on… I believe I've told you of the human concept of 'emo', correct?"

Ulquiorra thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes you have, Aizen-sama."

"Some may find the appearance associated with this 'emo' concept…attractive. I，however, do not. Now do away with those foolish marks on your face, like I've asked you."

If Aizen didn't know better, he might say Ulquiorra was going into a pout. "B…but I've already told you, Aizen-sama, I cannot. These are a permanent part of my face. In addition, you used to tell me you thought they were 'cute'."

"That was then, this is now." He gave his subordinate a cold look.

Tears sprang to Ulquiorra's eyes—oh Lord, thought Aizen, here we go again—and welled up and started to dribble down his cheeks.

And a strange thing started to happen—his face markings ran too. In a moment there were only blotches left.

Aizen raised an eyebrow. "Ulquiorra…. have you been…less than honest with me?"

"I-I…p-please don't—"

"Hush; I will forgive you if you take care of some other matters. Such as your eyes. What a lovely hue they are," he smiled, "…it's a pity that you _muddle them up_ with all that depressing eye makeup. And that pitch-black shade you tint your eyebrows—oh, it's all too much. It makes you look like the walking dead. Ah, excuse me," he realized, "I suppose you are—never mind then."

Ulquiorra's already teary eyes trembled along with his lower lip before he burst into tears and ran from the room, or at least what Aizen could see of it. "You're so _hurtfuuuulllll!!!_" he wailed, the Doppler effect diminishing the sound as he got further away.

Aizen sat there, eyebrow still arched. He mused over what could have triggered this reaction in Ulquiorra before shrugging nonchalantly and moving on to his next subject.

"Ahh, Jeagerjaques-san. How are you this fine morning?"

"Lea'mme alone," came a slur from the right side of the screen.

"Grimmjow? Are you alright?" Aizen inquired, slightly perturbed.

"Nn…what th'hell, it's so bright in here…" Grimmjow walked in front of the screen, staggering and rubbing his eyes. " 'The fruck happened last night…"

He was greeted by Aizen's stony face, enlarged and right in front of him and not sounding too happy as he began, "Grimmjow…I believe there have been a number of other occasions on which I have told you and your carousing _amigos_ that alcohol does unspeakable things to one's system. Not only does it kill brain cells—making one a poorer stategist and thus a poorer fighter—and lead to liver failure and an untimely death, but it simply does no justice to one's appearance. It would sadden me so to see you, Yammy, Stark, Nnoitra, Dordonii, Luppi—"

"DUNN' MENCHUN THA' NAME 'ROUND HERE, YA HEARR?!?!" came a slurred growl from across the screen, and the next thing Aizen saw was a fist zooming toward said screen and then a tinkle, shatter and a blackout.

…Yes, Grimmjow had just done the impossible: in his hungover haze of retardation, he had managed to break his side of Aizen's holographic display—when it wasn't even made of anything to begin with.

Aizen sat in stunned silence, watching the black fuzz across the screen for a moment. Then he scrawled a couple quick notes across a pad he had conveniently whipped out: _Grimm.—per usual, not amazingly reliable and/or responsible. However, God-defying skills definitely getting up there. Considering moving G. up to number 4 and moving Ulqui. elsewhere. (__Poss. maid?__ –-only if loli costume available)_

A few mere moments later he was _vis-à-vis_ with Grimmjow once more. He didn't know how he did these things sometimes; perhaps his own sheer divine awesomeness had restored the screens' connection. Grimmjow, of course, was not expecting this, but had calmed down a bit and almost seemed apologetic.

"Uh…sorry 'bout before, Aizen-sama…only wantin' to serve you and all that…" he said, avoiding eye contact.

"Yes, I'm sure that fist was filled with wholehearted desire from you to please me, Grimmjow," replied Aizen patiently, the eerie sarcasm never leaving his voice. "But that's not important. Let's get down to the matter at hand—"

"…the Royal Key?"

"No…"

" …gettin' a promotion?"

"No—"

"Then _what_?"

"—your outfit."

"Ooh. I'm jumpin' for joy," came Grimmjow's reply full of oh-so-spritely charm. "'Kay, well, get it over with quick."

"You see, Jeagerjaques-san, I was thinking about maybe making a few more cutbacks to your top, and…"

Grimmjow interrupted with a clearing of his throat and looking a bit sheepishly to the side. "That's great 'n all, Aizen-sama, but I think if my jacket got cropped anymore…there prob'ly wouldn't be nothin' left. Well, _maybe_ there'd be some collar left, but…yeah…"

Aizen put a wounded expression on his face. "That's…that's alright, Grimmjow…I see your meaning, and understand completely…Well, suppose I'll be moving on now then…"

"No! Wait!" came a cry as he was switching the screen over. Aizen's lips twitched into a self-satisfactory smile once safely out of view. Oh, what fun these guilt trips could be…

* * *

Next time on Hueco Mundo Makeover Day...who will be Aizen's next victim--er, consultee? Will this flamboyant individual be able to handle the affronts to his/her style? _Will there be a catfight??_ Read and find out...!  
(Jeez, this description is starting to sound as cheesy as Jerry Springer...I apologize. Deeply.)

A/N: Sorry if I destroyed anyone's image of anybody. (Bwahaha...weep, Ulquiorra, weep!! J/k.) Oh, and the names Aizen was listing were NOT the people whose appearances he was scared would be affected by drinking. (There's just no way some of them could get any worse... coughYammycough) It's just the peoples who tended to end up drinking together. Of course, when Luppi was there, Grimmjow was nowhere to be found, and vice-versa. Hope you enjoyed so far! (Please R&R)


	3. NOT Fabulous

After a bit of thought, Aizen settled on Szayel Aporro Granz. My, this was going to be a challenge…giving style tips to the world's most flamboyant man. (Firstly because he was liable to be faced with a good deal of opposition, and secondly because it just didn't seem possible for Szayel to become any more flaming. Then again, drawing from past experiences…just when you started to think that, he most definitely could. And _would_.)

"Hello, Szayel."

"Good day, Aizen-sama. Is there something the matter?"

"Yes. Your face."

The look of pure shock that flew onto Szayel Aporro's features was Once-in-a-Lifetime Priceless. The sort of look that said "oh-no-biotch-you-did-not-just…" Except magnified fifty times. And made even better by the fact that the man happened to be still kneeling in humble greeting.

"Relax, _relax_, I was merely joking," said Aizen benevolently.

"A…Aizen-sama…" Szayel still looked somewhat offended as he arose.

"Please don't take it personally, Szayel. I know you go to great lengths to ensure that your visage is not causing a disturbance." Aizen said this with a straight face.

"Why thank yo—wait…" Szayel Aporro's thinking face came on. Then his "ready-to-b!tchslap-the-bejeezus-outta-you" face appeared, ever-so-slightly. Although he kept his thoughts steadily under control and below the surface—at least, while Aizen was watching.

"As I said, relax," reassured Aizen. "You're probably one of the fairest males this side of the _Garganta_." Which, of course, only meant in Las Noches. "That said, we must take further steps to make sure you will be seen at first glance as a resounding _male_."

Aizen suppressed a grin. He was having _way_ too much fun with this.

"I thank you kindly for your vote of confidence, sir," the rose-haired scientist replied. If Aizen didn't know any better, he would have sworn he saw a shadow of another expression crossing the man's face, one that was far too rebellious for his likings.

And of course, there was the blatant sarcasm. Sarcasm pissed Aizen off to no end….

…Unless he was the one using it, of course.

"Now, now, Szayel-san, let's not get _catty_ here," came Aizen's warm reply, smoothed over with the most restraint he had exercised the entire day thus far. "Well, back to what I was going to—"

Without warning, the blare of alarms came flooding in from Szayel Aporro's side of the screen. The main living chamber in which he stood became tinted with a harsh red light, carrying over from the Espada's adjoining laboratories-slash-research facilities. Szayel's glasses glinted back the crimson-dyed glow as he called over in a horrified voice, "What's happened in there? Lumina, Verona, any of you, are you functional?! Respond!"

No one did. Szayel Aporro turned back to face Aizen, looking quite contrite. "My oh my," he lamented, "could we do a raincheck on this? I'm terribly sorry, seems it can't be helped—"

"I understand; go attend to the matter at hand, Szayel, before things reach emergency status," Aizen concurred, one hand graciously waving Szayel off toward the now-danger zone. "I'm not entirely sure what I'd do if you managed to singlehandedly engulf all of Las Noches in some huge inferno or nuclear accident. Take any measures necessary," Aizen repeated, motioning again while Szayel was already heading away from the field of vision.

Aizen sent the screen into a neutral mode, ignoring the softly fuzzing static.

Szayel threw the off-switch with a sigh, exasperated yet still glad that at least the frenzied lights and beeps were over with.

Then Aizen Sousuke's mouth worked itself into an unexpected grimace.

Then Szayel Aporro Granz's features outdid that by a long shot, warping into an expression that most would hesitate to call "cuddly."

And then it came, from both men…

…with such force that passing servants in the far-off halls could hear the deafening echoes escaping both chambers…

…and would forever stay in all their befuddled minds…

…as the day their dignified lords Aizen and Granz screamed:

"That_ BITCH!!_"

* * *

A/N: Woo, catfight. Tune in next time for the exciting girly-man drama. (Szayel's about to go all diva on you pansies if he doesn't get his way. With throwing handbags and everything. J/k, if he owned any handbags that'd be a little TOO obvious.) 


	4. Of Lies, Stress and Caffeine

* * *

Something didn't feel right to Aizen here. Besides the something about Szayel Aporro that just _irked_ him, those accursed alarms were a little _too_ well-timed, thought Aizen as he continued scowling. It almost reminded him of the good old days in Soul Society… 

…Yes, he could see it clearly now—him sounding quite the detective as he "accused" good old Gin: "It seems the alarm sounds quite frequently these days, Ichimaru…" A-hahahhah, what _fun_; they certainly had everyone going for a while…

But there were some key differences at hand. Back then Aizen had been "in" on things; he and Gin had been partners-in-scheme.

Meanwhile, what the hell was going on with Granz?! (Did Aizen feel his scandalous-senses tingling…?) Whatever it was, Aizen was not "in" on it!

If there was one thing he detested—well, besides bad hair days, the Disney Channel, and a number of other unspeakable things in the universe…

…It was not being on the "in" side of things.

If Aizen Sousuke had been a lesser man, he might have started to cry. Or throw things. Or worse.

No, he simply massaged his temples, agitated, and made a temporary earth-shattering decision:

With the way this day was going…

Screw the tea, he needed a goddamn triple-shot espresso.

* * *

Szayel Aporro, still huffing from his girlish outburst, chucked the emergency "on"-switch at the floor in a characteristically hissy fashion. 

Yes, an "on"-switch: the portable one he kept with him to deal with _real_ emergencies such as this one.

(If his _fracción_ had actually been causing mayhem in his facilities, he would have devoured them all instantly.)

So by _these_ emergencies, he meant escaping from social nightmares with heinous sons-of-bitches like Aizen.

Who was he to think _he _could be the one impulsively going around giving style tips, no, style _orders_ to all of Las Noches?! Especially to Szayel Aporro himself! He shuddered; it was one of the most degrading things he'd ever been subjected to. And this wasn't even the first time!

_Ooh_, how he despised that man; his only good point was his innate…er, well, attractiveness, and even _that_ was infuriating! Szayel looked forlornly toward his laboratories—how he wished he could just live in his happy place forever, nevermore forced to deal with the wearisome outside world…

He swiftly turned his focus back onto his clenched fist and diva-esque fury. _No! Revenge! Must keep eyes on just desserts! …Eww, no, sweets and carbs go straight to the thighs._

_But someday, someday I will have retribution…_

_Because nobody out-schemes, much less out-_fabulous_es_, SZAYEL APORRO GRANTZ!!_ WHORES!!!_

The clichéd maniacal laughter was overheard by still more uneasy servants.

* * *

Aizen decided he _shouldn't_ have sent for that third espresso. And it probably wasn't the best idea to make that one a quadruple-shot. 

Was he trying to calm his nerves before?

He couldn't remember. It was a little tricky when one's face and limbs were twitching spasmodically.

He thought he had a vague notion of crashing down off his chair.

But as mentioned, it was impossible to tell, considering he had twitches on top of twitches.

So, this was what it felt like to not have control over one's own brain…Hm…Intriguing…

…Aizen was scared shitless.

Which was when he knew there was definitely something very, very wrong.

* * *

When Aizen finally came to, he thanked God (wait, why should he thank the King of Soul Society? That bastard didn't warrant his thanks! He thanked his divine self instead) that one of the medical personnel had found him promptly. 

Maybe his massive reiatsu generated a comforting cloud of doom throughout the palace, and the inhabitants had sensed it flickering in and out like a drugged firefly. Or a defective strobe light. It all made perfect sense to Aizen…

...Something was still not right. His mind was working in odd new ways that disconcerted him a bit.

He decided it would be wisest to go back to sleep. Ideally when he woke up, it would all turn out to be a long and elaborate dream.

* * *

It wasn't a dream. Aizen groaned as he sat up to lean on one arm, the medical assistant still monitoring him a bit anxiously. 

"Aizen-sama? Are you feeling alright?"

"…Hopefully. For now."

The nurse plowed directly through to her next statement. "While we understand you are far from ordinary, sir, we believe that in the future it might be wise not to ingest more than thrice the typical _konpaku_'s limit of caffeine."

"I…I what?"

"It would appear that as a lifetime tea-only drinker, perhaps you were unable to wisely judge the magnitude of this unusual 'espresso' drink," the nurse suggested timidly.

Aizen sat up all the way, offended. "I am _Aizen Sousuke_," he stated ominously. "_I_ determine a beverage's caffeine level. My word is _law_." He paused for effect. "Anyone thinking otherwise…should…not consider themselves allied with us."

"It was merely a—"

"—You may leave."

The look of pure terror in the young lady's eyes as she turned from him and ran babbling gibberish from the room at least reassured Aizen that he was back to normal again. Scratch that, back to his former glory.

Standing up and smiling, he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked back to his own quarters, whistling a happy tune. Ohh, he felt so much better now. All he needed would be some aromatherapy and massage, and he would already be _well _beyond standing in the heavens.

But who would actually be willing at this point? To give him a massage, that is. Aizen was starting to feel like…like nobody loved him anymore. He gave a little sniffle. (Even Gin cared more about his brownie bites, sadly enough…)

It was lonely at the top.

…Yet it felt oh, so goood…

The smile came back to Aizen's face as he settled back into his quarters, rejuvenated. He decided it couldn't hurt to move on to the much-neglected (and probably for several good reasons) Espada…

* * *

"Y-yeah, Aizen-sama?" came Yammy's gruff tone. "Uh, I mean, what's the matter?" 

There was an extended pause. Nothing but silence. Aizen simply stared at his creation, practically his offspring, his child…

—"…Never mind," he murmured in resignation, flicking the screen to neutral—

….and wondered how things could have gone so, so wrong.

Deciding that attempting to work on lost causes was too stressful (and we didn't want to go down _that_ path again), Aizen resolved to pick someone who did not induce headaches from the mere sight of them.

* * *

A/N: Muahahaha, to be continued…who do you all think should be next? Suggestions? Questions/comments/criticisms? 


End file.
